


The General's New Planet

by primeideal



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Emperor's New Groove, Crack Treated Seriously, Fusion, M/M, MayThe4th Treat, Tauntauns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-15 15:30:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: Infiltrate a secret First Order base, destroy their plans, save the galaxy, find true love. All in a day's work for Poe Dameron.He just hadn't figured on the tauntauns.





	The General's New Planet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaragdbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/gifts).



> You had amazing prompts, thanks for inspiring me! :D

FN-2187 didn’t remember his early life. He hadn’t been born into the First Order, he knew that. He’d been taken as a child and raised to be a Stormtrooper. That had to have been a strange moment, even if he couldn’t say when or where it had happened.

Of the days he _could_ remember, though, this one was the weirdest.

Kylo Ren, Snoke’s secretive lieutenant and Force-wielder, had summoned _him_. At first FN-2187 thought he was going to be executed, but moments had passed in the nondescript shuttle, and he was still alive. As far as he knew.

“You have an impressive record,” Ren said. “Exemplary academic performance, and above-average reaction times in the sims.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Yet you remain assigned to maintenance squadrons and staff rotations, and have not seen combat.”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know why that is?”

“I go where Captain Phasma orders me.”

Ren turned away and started to pace. “You were assessed significantly below-average with regards to emotional control and improper responses to superiors.”

FN-2187 said nothing. If his questions to Phasma had been impertinent, anything he could say to _Kylo Ren_ certainly would be.

“You seem to have a special talent for speaking honestly, even if it is not what your instructors wish to hear.”

“I only wish to understand my instructions. So that I can carry out my work responsibly.” FN-2187 added a belated “Sir.”

“This is why you are here. Because I require your appraisal. The Supreme Leader...does not approve of me acting alone. But surely he will understand if I do what is best for the First Order.” Ren seemed to be talking to himself more than FN-2187.

Then he turned and faced him square-on. “What is your assessment of General Hux?”

FN-2187 said nothing. Who was he, to give an opinion to Kylo Ren? Ren knew Hux’s comings and goings better than he did. Anyone with authority in the First Order did, and FN-2187 had no authority.

“Don’t lie to me, trooper. I will know if you are trying to flatter.”

“Ah,” FN-2187 stalled. “He’s...he’s very loud. And...organized, he’s well-organized—”

Then a shock, as if he’d been stunned by a blaster. But Ren had no weapon, only his outstretched hand, and yet suddenly FN-2187 was gasping for air. Thoughts raced through his mind, unbidden. _Petty tyrant, thinks he’s the heir of the Empire, never lifted a finger, orders us all out here to do what, build monuments to his grandeur, to his stupidity more like, enjoys moving us around like tools, like things—_

“Enough,” said Ren, and FN-2187’s mind was his own once again. He inhaled, slowly, savoring the feeling of his breath under his own control.

“I was right,” Ren went on, again seeming to ignore FN-2187. “Of course I was right.”

When he said nothing more, FN-2187 ventured, “Am I dismissed, sir?”

“Dismissed?” Ren echoed. “After what you’ve heard, to go back to being another Stormtrooper? No, we can’t have that.”

So that was it, then. He was going to die, killed not by a rebel or a Republic do-gooder, but by the superior officer he’d just met. FN-2187 wondered if he had family to mourn him. Hopefully not. Whoever they were, they’d have done their mourning years before.

“You,” Ren went on, “are going to help me assassinate Armitage Hux.”

* * *

Poe Dameron had imagined undercover work for the Resistance to be somewhat more glamorous.

Dangerous, yes. But the kind of danger that came from working on crowded planets where he’d have to work not to be recognized, to avoid enemy agents and deliver clandestine data files to trusted allies. Not the kind of danger that came from trying not to freeze to death on a Force-forsaken ice world, announcing his real name to anyone in the galaxy who cared, because nobody who knew him would be out in the remote regions. Lying that he had any reason to care about the planet Lureag for its own sake.

 _Every planet matters for its own sake_ , he told himself. If he couldn’t fool himself, how was he going to fool the First Order?

Well, presumably the First Order thugs were as stupid as they were cruel. That would help.

“You may enter,” said a Stormtrooper at the door to the conference room. Were they human underneath those masks? The voice sounded mechanical, distant, like holo-animations he’d seen of Darth Vader growing up.

Poe pulled his coat tighter around him as he walked inside. He’d acquired the coat secondhand, needing to look like a simple humanoid far from Core World culture. The hem had already been falling out when he’d gotten it, and it had only deteriorated as he’d acclimatized to Lureag.

“Hello?” said General Hux. He was younger than Poe had expected, bright red hair contrasting with his stolid gray uniform.

“Afternoon, sir,” Poe nodded. “I’m Poe Dameron, I commed your staff recently?”

“Ah, yes.” There were several chairs in the room; Hux sat stiffly in one of them, but made no motion for Poe to do likewise. No doubt he intended a quick meeting.

“I work as a miner at the Muuk station,” said Poe, adopting a Felucian accent he’d picked up on Takodana. “This is the first time I’ve come down this way. I must say, your spaceships are real stunning.” Flatter the man, let him think they had common ground, but don’t assume permanence.

“Thank you,” said Hux. “I’m more of a manager myself, not much for piloting.”

“They say you’re aimin’ to build some kind of barracks out here, that so?”

“Something like that, yes.” He was almost smiling.

“Well, I sure do look forward to havin’ new faces to trade with. Gets mighty lonely in the nights, just us and the wampas.”

“I hope we can reach an accomodation.”

“It can be a mite chilly for off-worlders like yourselves, I reckon. But the view of the spiral arms at night, the hibernating cats, the evergreen stumps...there’s nothing like our Lureag, not in the whole galaxy.”

“Is that so?” Hux asked. His eyes seemed to look right through Poe.

“Yes,” Poe said, willing his disguise to hold. He had no strength in the Force, but maybe, if his hope was strong enough…

“Do you know,” Hux asked, “precisely how many species were native to the planet of Alderaan and never thrived elsewhere in the galaxy?”

“Er...no, sir,” Poe said, which was true. “Not a xenobiologist, me.”

“Neither do I,” said Hux. “Thousands of years, civilization thrived there, and nobody could count how many millions of flora and fauna had evolved, each adapted to its own niche.”

Poe tried to play up his bemusement. Was it a dig at Organa? Did he know…?

“And when the Empire snapped its fingers, they were gone like _that_ ,” Hux said. “If, and when, the First Order decide we want to make use of this planet, you and your mine will not stand in our way.”

That answered that question. “Well, maybe you could help me find work somewhere else,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to see Coruscant.”

“You seem like an...enterprising fellow,” said Hux. “I trust you’ll be more than capable of handling your own problems. Was there anything else?”

“No,” Poe said, not bothering to add a “sir.”

He trooped back towards the skeletal hangar, where his outdated transport was stowed. _Black One_ had been too new to bring on that remote a mission, so he was stuck in a box that BB-8 had named the _Cria_. It sounded funnier in binary.

Well, the mission hadn’t been a total waste, he reminded himself. He’d gotten good maps and technical data. But everything he’d found confirmed the Resistance’s fears. The First Order were building a superweapon, one that would dwarf even the Death Star of old.

He still couldn’t bring himself to care about Lureag for its own sake. But he could for the galaxy’s.

* * *

Everything FN-2187 knew about the Force he’d seen on holovids. Sith Lords like Darth Vader wielding lightsabers and mowing down their opposition. The Emperor discerning the future in part, yet not enough to prevent his downfall. Jedi Master fools who were certainly foolish for...some unclear reasons. It was not something that common Stormtroopers would study; that was left for the Supreme Leader and his inner circle.

Ren, however, produced mere genetics experiments, superfrozen in either some laboratory or the inhospitable Lureag climate. “Anyone can strike down their enemies,” Ren said, “with one display of power for another. Even the superweapon Hux raves about is insignificant before the power of the Force.”

“Did you come up with that all by yourself?” FN-2187 muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“To prevent his inner circle from trying to immediately retaliate, we’ll need to make it look like an accident,” said Ren. “Hence, the poison.”

“What happens when his inner circle catches on?”

“By that time, they will have accepted my authority. And if they don’t...that’s when I resort to my lightsaber.”

“So much for ‘we.’”

“What?”

“Nothing,” said FN-2187.

“Ah, General!” Ren raised his voice, slightly, through clenched teeth. That was FN-2187’s cue, to take a few steps back and stand at attention. “What a...splendid world you’ve chosen to make your base of operations. I can see why the Supreme Leader puts such trust in you.”

“Ren.” Hux nodded. FN-2187 began to walk as if on patrol. He reminded himself that the General was not strong with the Force; he could not sense his apprehension, or anything else that the mask hid. “I was not aware you had chosen to grace us with your presence.”

“I find it important to be up-to-date on all aspects of the First Order’s operations. Tell me, how many sentient-years do you plan to invest into this folly?”

“Much fewer than it will be capable of eliminating, should any rebels dare to—”

He never finished the sentence. FN-2187 plunged the syringe Ren had prepared into the back of the General’s neck, and before he could reach for his blaster, he had collapsed in the snow.

It was necessary, he told himself. The First Order had drilled it through his mind; he was not to kill for its own sake, but as a tool to preventing chaos and rebellion. Was he really saving the galaxy by preventing Hux’s brainchild from going ahead?

Ren seemed to think so. But not even the Force let him see the future.

A cold wind blew across the planet’s surface. FN-2187 shivered, and then peered down at Hux’s motionless form. The General was…

well, somewhat furrier than he had been only seconds prior.

“Sir?” FN-2187 asked.

“What?” Ren said. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and developed qualms now.”

“Certainly not. Only, uh...”

Ren glanced down as well, to see that Hux was not only very much alive, but had sprouted magnificent horns to go with his fur. Within moments, he had transformed into a full-grown tauntaun.

“Is that how the Force works?” FN-2187 asked.

“Snoke’s been _experimenting_ again,” Ren scowled. “Take it away and finish the job.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“It is beneath me to eliminate...pack beasts.”

FN-2187, deciding it was best not to get on Ren’s bad side, squatted to lift the tauntaun’s enormous heft. Even through his helmet, he could make out a distant stench, and the weight of his armor only added to the strain in his arms.

He hustled to the hangar, and unceremoniously dropped the tauntaun on the snow. Then he took out his blaster.

 _You know_ , a voice said in his mind, _Luke Skywalker once found himself in a position very similar to yours._

“What?” FN-2187 blurted.

_Don’t shout, I can hear you just fine._

_Who are you?_ he silently asked.

_You know, that’s a good question. You can think of me as a personfication of the Force. Or Skywalker himself, if you’d rather anthropomorphize me a bit more. Or perhaps your inner conscience._

_Ignore him,_ said another, more impatient voice, _you have your orders, kill the beast already!_

 _Ren?_ FN-2187 asked. _Is that you?_

 _Pfft. Consider me the Supreme Leader. Or_ your _supreme leader._

 _I suppose that’s the Dark Side of the Force exerting its will on you_ , said the first voice.

 _Are you saying I’m using the Force?_ FN-2187 asked.

_Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re only just now coming to realize what a complicated business it is, being a free person._

_I’m not free_ , he said bitterly. _Even if I dispose of Hux, Ren will still have me at his command. I can’t kill_ everyone.

 _Not with that attitude,_ said the second voice.

 _Oh, would you both just shut up already!_ FN-2187 heaved the tauntaun again onto the nearest automated cargo ramp, which was refilling transports. _There. Now he’s someone else’s problem._

Satisfied, and for the moment alone in his own head, FN-2187 went back to report to Ren.

* * *

BB-8 whined and hissed as Poe fiddled with the hyperdrive. It had been working fine on the way out, but—whether due to lack of maintenance or First Order sabotage—was refusing to cooperate. If he couldn’t get it started, they’d need to navigate through real space until they could get a new one. And in a desolate region predominantly controlled by the First Order, who knew when that would be?

“Activate low-energy cloaking,” he told BB-8, “while I see if we have any spare parts.” It wasn’t likely, he knew, but any chance was better than none.

He paced into the cargo bay and began rummaging through the _Cria_ ’s stockpile. Fuel reserves, pre-assembled blasters, a furry tauntaun hoof, a droid charger…

Wait.

Poe cleared away some of the junk to confirm that there was, in fact, a fully grown tauntaun awkwardly curled up and unconscious in the cargo bay. Well, he might have been lax with upkeep, but he’d _definitely_ have known if there was a tauntaun when he’d left the Resistance port. Had it stowed away? Tauntauns weren’t sentient, as far as he knew, but neither were they native to Lureag. Some First Order officer’s idea of a prank? Why go to the trouble of sabotaging his hyperdrive, if indeed they had, only to leave him with an uninvited guest?

One thing was clear; there was no hyperdrive. At a loss to what to do, Poe returned to the bridge.

“Did you know about this?” he asked, once he’d explained the situation to BB-8, who only beeped in amusement.

“It’s not funny!”

_It kind of is. Do you know how to provide for this species?_

“Of course not, what do tauntauns even eat?”

_You’re the organic._

Stranded in the middle of nowhere with a pack beast? Maybe it would be kinder to put the thing out of its misery before it had a chance to regain consciousness. Hoisting his blaster, Poe reluctantly strode back into the cargo bay.

“Hey!” said a voice. “Watch where you’re pointing that thing!”

“Who said that?” Poe whirled around. “BB?”

“Me, obviously.”

“Who is ‘me’? Tauntauns can’t talk.”

“What do tauntauns have to do with...Dameron, is that you?”

“Yes?”

“Not such a simple miner, are you? You must be a spy!”

“What in all the worlds...” Blaster tight in his grip, Poe stepped forward to observe that, indeed, the tauntaun was producing speech.

“So you admit it!”

“Admit what?”

“That you’re some kind of Republic sneak.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” said Poe. “But let’s back up. How did you learn to speak?”

“As an infant, like most sentient creatures.”

“You’re a tauntaun.”

“No I’m not.”

“Then what are you?”

“A human, obviously. I mean—” The tauntaun staggered to its feet, then lurched as it shifted its weight. It raised a hoof, then reared back in panic. “A tauntaun! I’m a tauntaun!”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” said Poe.

“I was...the base...Ren! Oh, he will _pay_ for this.”

“So...you used to be human. But now you’re a tauntaun. Great.”

“You don’t recognize me?” said the tauntaun, sounding almost offended.

“How should I recognize you? All tauntauns sound the same, by which I mean, you’re the only one that can speak.”

“I am General Hux of the First Order, and I _demand_ that you—” The tauntaun cut off, and Poe stifled a laugh. _This_ was the fearsome General Hux? Builder of weapons of mass destruction, playing at empire? He would almost have been risible, if he didn’t smell so bad.

“I can’t go back,” the tauntaun—Hux—stammered. “There must have been a coup.”

“You’re not going anywhere right now,” Poe pointed out.

“Well. I require you to take me back to the Core Worlds, and then I will reconsider my options.”

“I don’t think you’re in much of a bargaining position.”

“I can fly a ship by myself, how hard can it be. You have autopilot on this piece of junk, right?”

“I have all the weapons,” said Poe, raising his blaster again.

“I’m sure that’d go over well with your high-and-mighty ‘Resistance,’ killing a defenseless prisoner.”

Poe hesitated. He had the man he’d come to see at his mercy, with the slight caveat that he was no longer a man. Surely there had to be an ultimatum, a way out?

Of course. “Dismantle the base. Leave Lureag, and don’t attempt any kind of superweapon.”

“What?”

“I’ll take you back to the Core and you can get a ship—on the condition you immediately stop work on whatever it is you were planning. We don’t have all the details, but we know it’s enough to rival the Death Star. I won’t allow that.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I’ve heard tauntauns are very well adapted to the cold.” Poe shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to see if they can survive the vacuum of space.”

Hux stared as threateningly as a tauntaun could, but Poe refused to back down. Pacifism had its place, but the Resistance had to be prepared for everything, including war. Yes, he had once been a child of the rebellion, his dreams high and bright as the stars—but, some said, so had Kylo Ren.

“Fine,” said Hux. “You’ll do.”

“Great,” said Poe. “Strap in for a long realspace trek. The hyperdrive is out, so we could be here a while.”

It shouldn’t have been possible for Hux to make any _more_ of a glower, but all the same, he gave a good impression.

* * *

FN-2187 had labored under the hope that things would go back to normal after the disappearance of General Hux. Unfortunately for him, “normal” for a loner Stormtrooper meant tedious construction work, mindless patrols, and very little fraternizing with companions who could sympathize with his plight. Of course, Ren had sworn him to secrecy, but as he waited out in the cold, he reflected that he wasn’t at much risk of having friends to gossip with anyway.

Was that a movement in the shadows? “Don’t approach,” he said, raising a blaster. “This is a secure area.”

“I know it’s a secure area, I’m your superior officer!” bellowed Ren.

Oh. “My apologies, sir. Only following orders.”

“Very good,” said Ren. “As you followed the order to dispose of Hux’s, ah, altered state?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Ren stepped forward—and then lashed out in the Force again. FN-2187 felt his mind being laid bare, as if for the whole galaxy. Through the pain and humiliation, he cursed the voices that had tried to direct him. Why had he been foolish enough to try to disobey a Force-sensitive?

Ren relinquished his grip, and FN-2187 stumbled in his footprints. “I should kill you where you stand,” Ren declared.

So that was it, then.

“But I will need a backup, and I still can’t leave you here with what you know. Come along. We need to finish the job.”

* * *

“I checked the computer,” Hux said. “The standard trade route is via Tarbes, which is about eight days rimward. We have plenty of supplies for that, although I must say, your rations are really designed for bipeds. It’d be more faster to go via Shearlim, but there’s an asteroid field directly in the way.”

Poe checked the computer again himself, of course. He wasn’t about to risk his life, or his ship, on the say-so of a First Order officer. But the map checked out.

“What?” Hux said. “I want to get back as much as you do. More so, probably.”

“I understand your haste,” said Poe. “BB-8, set course for Shearlim.”

The sooner the tauntaun was off his ship, the better. As importantly, Hux was looking at him like he was just some scared rookie from the Republic academy. He’d show him.

“You named your droid Beebee?” Hux asked.

“He named himself,” Poe said shortly. BB-8 whirred in satisfaction.

The approach to the asteroid field was uneventful, except for Hux loudly complaining that the fresher was also designed for bipeds. “I thought you Resistance fools were all about interspecies diversity.”

“And so are our ships. Just on the scale of the fleet, not individual facilities.” Poe tried not to think about how the fur would probably have gotten everywhere. Hopefully he’d become desensitized to the smell quickly.

And then the asteroids were upon them. Poe defaulted to manual control; the computers were fast, but usually not fast enough to update their trajectory in real-time faced with so many oncoming projectiles. He swerved around a slowly-rotating rock, decelerated to avoid smaller debris.

“Please do continue taking these sharp turns,” Hux called from the back. “I’d love to regurgitate my lunch, that was terrible—”

A jagged rock caught the _Cria_ head-on. Instinctively, Poe enabled the emergency autopilot before the impact force threw him across the cabin. The galaxy went blank.

* * *

General Leia Organa awoke from a disturbing dream. Visions in the Force were only possibilities, Luke had reminded her on many occasions, fragments of a galaxy that might yet be. Trying to take them as fact only led to confusion.

What had the vision been trying to tell her, she wondered? Commander Dameron had been doing something reckless. She cared for the young pilot, and he obviously admired her deeply. Did he need more oversight? Or autonomy to learn from his mistakes?

And then, in the dream, he’d been...uncomfortable. Close to another being, but disgusted with the stranger and himself. Was he ashamed for taking time to pursue a romance amid the war? Or had he fallen for someone of questionable loyalties?

Too much speculation was fruitless. He had suggested the mission to Lureag, and she’d approved, despite her concerns about his ability for disguise. It couldn’t help to try to extricate him now. If her visions had told her anything, over the years, it was that sometimes the best she could do for someone she cared for was trust them to find their own way.

* * *

Poe saw stars.

The Inirk binary system was visible from the display screen. Good. So they hadn’t drifted too far.

But why was the display screen almost directly overhead? And why did the cabin smell even more strongly of tauntaun than it already had? And why—his _lips—_

“Don’t sit up too fast,” Hux warned. “You’ll exascerbate something, I think your lungs got smashed.”

“Where are we?”

“Not in the asteroid field, if that’s what you want to know. Your sphere is surprisingly competent at debugging the autopilot.”

“Great,” said Poe. “Did you try to _kiss_ me?”

“It was a last resort, I can tell you that. After a few minutes you stopped breathing, and the orange boltbucket seemed to think giving you a shock or dumping you into the vacuum of space so you’d fit right in weren’t acceptable alternatives.”

“Well, even a stopped clock is right twice a day.”

“Depends on the length of the day,” Hux said. “I mean, whose calendar are you using?”

Poe stood up as quickly as he could. “I am going to inspect my ship, if that meets your stringent medical standards.”

“By all means.”

For having endured an asteroid collision, the _Cria_ was in decent shape. Poe found himself wishing he had something to tinker with, some way to avoid Hux. It wasn’t fair, owing his life to the man. Tauntaun. Entity.

He couldn’t help the Resistance dead, he reminded himself. He had to live to send word back—with any luck, of a scuttled base. Then he and Hux could go their separate ways forever.

* * *

If Kylo Ren was unpleasant to share a base with, he was downright obnoxious to share a small spaceship with. FN-2187 tended to hide in his bunk to ignore the outposts, directed in no particular direction, about “sanctimonious monks,” “smugglers who don’t even have real surnames,” and “giant bowcaster-fielding furballs.”

“I know Hux is still a threat,” FN-2187 commented, “but I don’t think he has opposable thumbs. I wouldn’t think he could wield a weapon.”

“Not _him_ ,” Ren sulked, without elaborating.

They were going in circles—or complex orientable manifolds in hyperspace, which amounted to the same thing. Finally, FN-2187 caught Ren brooding at the controls. “If I were a tauntaun,” Ren hissed from behind his mask, “where would I be?”

“Was that a rhetorical question? Sir?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, yes. Because I happen to have an answer.”

Moments later, they were whizzing toward the Anoat sector.

* * *

The galaxy is, of course, a large and diverse place with innumerable languages spoken. The range of abstract communication, whether spoken, signed, beeped, or emitted via other senses, is as varied as the species who use them and the planets they dwell on.

To allow rapid communication and a common system of government, a basic standard dialect has emerged, along with the Aurabesh writing system and widely-implemented forms of droid binary. Yet no symbol set will be understood by every creature, and in some remote areas, pictograms are in occasional use to supplement written or spoken words.

This was the dilemma facing Poe and Hux when they landed on the Echo Base Supply Depot and Memorial, where a sign very visibly indicated “No Tauntauns Allowed.”

“How dare they?” Hux raged. “We’re a native species!”

“Out on the tundra,” said Poe. “Not on historical sites.”

“Well, we’re probably endangered or something. Aren’t you pretending to be concerned about all the adorable wildlife?”

“Shut up. I have an idea...”

A few moments later, they strode into the depot. “Excuse me,” Poe said, “but I need some supplies for my ship, and if you have any hyperdrives, I could really use one.”

“Hey!” said a surly human, buried under several layers. “Can’t you read the sign? No tauntauns allowed.”

“Ah,” said Hux. “I’m glad you think my disguise is so realistic. But I’m not _actually_ a tauntaun, I’m his partner.”

“In...what, exactly?”

“Historical reenactment, of course! We can’t truly hope to simulate the harsh conditions faced by the Rebel Alliance unless we understand how critical a role their transit animals played.”

The clerk glared at them, skeptically.

“It’s true,” Poe said. “Nothing like rehashing the conflicts of our ancestors in a diluted way to provide a few hours of cheap entertainment.”

“Supplies, hyperdrive, got it,” said the clerk, hustling off.

“Okay,” Hux conceded. “This was a pretty good idea.”

Poe grinned. “Of course it was.”

“I mean, except for the hero-worship of the Rebellion. And your paltry attempt at a uniform.”

“Hero-worship? They made it possible for the free galaxy we know to exist, something you’re doing your best to undermine!”

“Undermine? The Republic’s doing all the work for us, no one can be loyal to or affectionate for a faceless bureaucracy!”

“While your Supreme Leader inspires true pride? I doubt it.”

The clerk came back, tossing an old hyperdrive at Poe. “For the most authentic experience, a drive that’s two decades out of date.”

“Great.” Poe forced a smile. “I’ll see if my ports are backwards-compatible.”

“Is everyone in your...squadron this easily appeased?” Hux asked. “No wonder you’re helpless, cowards like that.”

“Our ships are very versatile,” Poe said. “It’ll fit.”

“And then conk out on us again in three parsecs. Let me handle this.”

Before Poe could raise a word of warning, Hux had stormed off to the storeroom. Poe considered walking back to the _Cria_ to try installing the deprecated hyperdrive, but a pair of new arrivals caught his eye: a Stormtrooper who looked like they might not have been reenacting, and a masked form that could only be Kylo Ren. Trying to keep his back to Ren, Poe stood and followed after Hux.

* * *

“Ask them if they’ve seen a tauntaun,” Ren demanded.

“I don’t think they’re too common in this area,” FN-2187 pointed out. “I mean, the sign basically says _No Tauntauns Allowed_.”

“Well, ask where the nearest herding range is.”

“Can’t you probe their minds?”

“And have the entire galaxy know my powers? We have _some_ need for stealth.”

In the hopes of avoiding Ren’s saber, FN-2187 scurried to the storeroom. “Excuse me,” he asked the nearest staffer.

“Wow!” the staffer said. “That’s the most realistic Stormtrooper armor I’ve ever seen! Where did you get it?”

“Uh,” said FN-2187. “It’s kinda...classified.”

“I know, I know, but can’t you give me a hint? I feel like a dweeb in my Ewok mask.”

“In the Unknown Regions.”

“You’ve _been_ to the Unknown Regions? That’s amazing! What are they like?”

“I mean, they’re pretty big. And diverse, it’s not just the same...Listen, have you seen any—”

“Wanna see our scale model Star Destroyers? We have a bunch.”

“No thanks. See, I’m really here to—”

“Or our hologram wampas...”

Unbeknownst to FN-2187, a tauntaun doing his best to be unobtrusive was sneaking up behind him, grabbing all the hyperdrives he could fit between his paws.

* * *

“That’s Ren!” Hux hissed, walking on his two back paws and precariously juggling several hyperdrives with the others. “We’ll never get out of here!”

Poe scooped a few drives. “You know him better than I do. What’s he like?”

“Crazy, impulsive, allured by the Dark Side, kinda incompetent, hero-worships Darth Vader...”

“I knew that. Wait, Vader?”

“Of course.”

Poe flagged down the clerk from before. “Excuse me,” he said.

“Are you going to pay for all those?” she asked.

“Uhhhh,” said Poe, producing his credit visitracker. “Just the newer models.”

She completed the transaction while Poe murmured a suggestion. She nodded, and returned to the storeroom with the unpurchased hyperdrives.

A few moments later, a squadron of Stormtrooper lookalikes in much less impressive uniforms than FN-2187’s burst out of the storeroom, making a beeline for Ren’s table. “BAM BAM BAM BOM BA-BAM, BOM BA-BAM!” they chorused.

“What?” said Ren.

The poorly-synthesized strains of the Imperial March continued as Poe and Hux made their escape.

* * *

After the festivities had died down, Ren decreed that they would do things “the old-fashioned way” by mentally interrogating every staff member at the Supply Depot and Memorial to see if any tauntauns had passed through. This was, of course, FN-2187’s idea, though the latter was careful not to give any sign of his internal vindication. It helped that his mask made him permanently expressionless.

“Just now?” Ren raged, throttling a clerk. “I would have _seen_ him!”

 _You were somewhat distracted,_ FN-2187 thought to himself. It was marginally easier to have heretic thoughts when Ren was in the business of Force-interrogating someone else.

Marginally.

“Dark hair...dark eyes...reckless attitude...” Ren trailed off. “Wait. I know that face. It’s a very old friend.”

“It is?” said FN-2187.

“Not of _yours_. Come on. We have another Supply Depot and Memorial to visit.”

“Be sure and show them your armor!” called another staff member as Ren and FN-2187 hustled out the door. “They’ll be really impressed!”

* * *

Fortunately for Poe and Hux, the fourth hyperdrive they tried worked.

Unfortunately, uninstalling and reinstalling successive hyperdrives while stuck in real space in a possibly hostile region takes a surprising amount of time, especially when one party doesn’t have hands.

* * *

Yavin IV was in full bloom. Ferns flourished in the shadows of the ancient Massassi temples, tree frogs croaked and flirted with each other, pollinators carried the seeds of bright purple flowers across the grasslands. “It’s beautiful,” said Hux. “The plants, I mean, not the Rebellion historiography.”

“I know,” said Poe. “I grew up here.”

“Brainwashed you young, then?”

“I’d have learned right from wrong no matter where in the galaxy I landed.”

“Even a backwater like Lureag?”

“I’m not from—”

“That was a joke, Dameron. Perhaps my limited range of facial expressions didn’t indicate.”

“Oh. Uh...sorry.”

“Poe!” called an older human. Tinve Lakro, a neighbor of the Damerons’ for many years. “Good to see you! What’s with the tauntaun?”

“Kind of a long story.” Poe glanced over at Hux, willing him to stay quiet. “Hush-hush work. You know how it is.”

“Oh, do I!” Lakro grinned, then dropped his voice to a faux whisper. “I sent the you-know-who up to your dad’s place.”

“I know who?”

“The _undercover spies_ ,” he hissed. “I know you can’t tell me exactly what you do, but they were obviously infiltrating those nasty First Order zealots.”

“Infiltrating...”

“Whddthlklk?” grunted Hux.

“He gets a little uncomfortable in the warm climate,” said Poe, elbowing him.

“Whsps?” he repeated.

“What did they look like? The spies, I mean.”

“Well,” said Lakro, “one of them was wearing this Stormtrooper outfit, although it looked too modern, and the other one had a weird mask like...”

“Like a lunatic who idolizes Darth Vader?”

“Precisely!”

Poe and Hux exchanged a glance. “Thanks,” Poe said. “That’s very good to know.”

* * *

“Take off your masks,” said Kes Dameron. “You’re my guests. Let me get you something to eat.”

“Oh, no,” said Ren. “We won’t be staying long.”

“Please,” said Kes. “I insist.”

Was he using the Force? Surely one would need tremendous strength of will to change the mind of Kylo Ren. Yet, after a pointed look, Ren complied, and nodded to FN-2187 to do the same.

Kes took the opportunity to produce cheese platters. _Don’t eat anything_ , Ren mouthed when his back was turned. _Could be poison._

“So,” Kes went on, “you’re allies of Poe’s?”

“Um...yes,” said Ren. “Very far undercover.”

“And what brings you out here?”

“We need to touch base with him regarding an operation.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s expected back for some time,” Kes said. “But please do make yourselves at home.”

Home. What did that mean to a Stormtrooper? FN-2187 tried to relax, but the forced effort only made him more anxious.

“Is the cheese all right?” Kes asked.

“Oh!” FN-2187 sat up. “Just lost my appetite, sorry. Hyperspace travel takes a lot out of me.”

“Perfectly understandable.”

“Can you share anything about your mission?” Kes said. “Of course I don’t keep up with modern intelligence reports, but we have plenty of spacecraft and star charts near the old base.”

FN-2187 glanced over at Ren, who seemed to be concentrating on using the Force to project the illusion of eating cheese. “We’re...planning a tactical strike.”

No word from Ren.

“An assassination attempt. On a First Order general.”

“Oh?” Kes asked. “How come?”

Ren had moved on to telekenetically probing the kitchen from afar.

“He’s evil,” FN-2187 blurted. “He thinks kidnapping and brainwashing toddlers is an effective method of military recruitment. He redirects productive engineering research into developing planetary-scale weapons. And he’s willing to claim territory by brute force to do so, with no regard for the beings dwelling there. Even the First Order themselves can’t stand him. He needs to die.”

Outside, a silent human and a stunned tauntaun huddled beneath the window.

* * *

“Well,” Kes said, standing out on the front porch, “your allies seem very...intrepid.”

“It’s complicated,” understated Poe. “Do you think you could stall them for a while?”

“Stall? FN is very curious about the neighborhood, I think he’d be delighted to stay longer! I haven’t shown him half of the local wildlife yet.”

“FN?”

“Effenn twooneeightseven. Curious name. Was he raised by droids?”

Poe glared at Hux, who had the wisdom to keep silent. “I think he doesn’t get a lot of shore leave. Try not to overwhelm him, but do make sure he gets to take it all him.”

Kes nodded. “What’s with the tauntaun? Is that classified?”

“Something like that,” Poe said. “Thanks a million.”

* * *

“And this,” Kes said, “is where the Rogue One crew were honored after the Battle of Yavin.”

“Whoa,” said FN-2187. “Er, who?”

“The rebel spies who stole the plans to the Death Star, at the cost of their own lives, enabling the Alliance to destroy it in orbit above this moon.”

“Huh. Pretty dumb of the Empire to just leave the plans lying around, right?”

“I’m going to the fresher,” Ren announced for what felt like the fifth time in an hour.

* * *

“Where are we?” Hux demanded, as the _Cria_ silently whirred on.

Poe didn’t turn to look at him. “Hyperspace.”

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t know, ask BB-8.”

BB-8 beeped angrily.

“He says he might pilot the ship into a black hole just to make sure the galaxy is rid of you.”

“Waste of a new hyperdrive,” said Hux. “And a pretty face.”

“Don’t try to flatter me.”

“You? I was talking to BB-8.”

Poe paused. “You don’t deny it.”

“How can I? You’ve seen Lureag.”

“FN, all of them—they’re slaves. They have no memory of a life outside the First Order.”

“Yes.”

“Why shouldn’t we sail into a black hole?”

“You need me to dismantle the base.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You probably can’t.”

BB-8 warbled, updating the coordinates.

“If I thought there was something to say that would get you to believe me,” Hux went on, “I would. But I think you’d see through anything I tried. You’re astute enough for that.”

That time, Poe didn’t dismiss it as flattery.

“So kill me now. Or take me back to Lureag. But don’t spend another week spinning your wheels in hyperspace, that’ll assure Ren and FN-2187 beat us back there if they haven’t already.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Poe lied.

* * *

“Good thing that doddering relic didn’t keep us any longer,” Ren said, foraging through the frozen genetic samples. “I was beginning to think we’d be trapped there forever.”

“It’s a beautiful planet!” FN-2187 said. “Didn’t you hear what he was saying about the deciduous groves? Or the two-horned sloths?”

“I’ve heard it all before,” Ren said. “Besides—”

He was interrupted by an automated voice over the loudspeaker. “ _Warning! Facility breach imminent. All personnel, prepare to evacuate. I repeat, all personnel, prepare to evacuate._ ”

“What?” Ren demanded, drawing his lightsaber as a preemptive measure. A few vials fell to the chilly ground and cracked.

FN-2187 wasted no time sprinting outside. To his surprise and delight, shuttles full of troopers were departing the planet with no clear officers onboard or obvious destination. Had they staged a rebellion? Had some brave souls overcome their programming? Or…

“I should have known I’d find you here!” Ren raged. “FN-2187, show some initiative for once and finish the job.”

FN-2187 whirled around to find Hux, in tauntaun form, standing by a smug Poe Dameron.

 _Go on,_ said the dark voice in his head. _It’s the least he deserves._

 _Whose side are you even on, anyway?_ FN-2187 inwardly demanded.

 _Hold on now,_ said the other voice. _Revenge is not the Jedi way._

_So what? I’m not a Jedi._

_True! You’re not a lot of things. You’re not a slave, you’re not a loyalist, you’re not just another number. Who are you?_

_I think you guys have to answer that first._

“Ahem?” Ren said.

“You destroyed the base?” FN-2187 asked, not taking his eyes from the tauntaun.

“Yeah, heh-heh. Kind of a long story.” Well, he still had Hux’ voice.

The temperment was an improvement, though. If not the smell.

Carefully, FN-2187 raised his blaster and fired.

He fired at Ren’s helmet.

* * *

“Traitor!” Ren raged, lashing out in the Force. FN-2187 was flung backward, falling unconscious in the snow.

“Easy, now,” said Hux, as Ren advanced with his lightsaber. “What’s with all the test tubes?”

“Also kind of a long story,” said Ren, “heh, heh. But once I’ve eliminated you, there will be no one standing between myself and the Supreme Leader. And I can interrogate him as to the use of these stupid samples.”

“They seem pretty useful to me,” said Poe. “Or hasn’t your regime invested in proper labeling of scientific equipment?”

“Hmm.” Ren casually tossed a few to the side. “Ah, yes! _This_ one should restore human DNA to a transmogrified creature.”

Hux’s ears twitched.

“Catch!” he grinned, flinging it high into the air—and raising his saber towards Poe.

There was a gust of wind, a violent shove, an overwhelming smell, snow on Poe’s jacket, the sound of breaking glass.

Poe staggered upright. Instinctively, he raised his blaster and fired. That time, it was Ren who hit the snow, and did not rise.

“Um,” said Poe. “What was that?”

Hux sniffed his onetime ally disdainfully. “Still alive. Pity, though I’d like to see the look on Snoke’s face when he finds them amid the ruins of the base.”

“The vial!” Poe dashed over. “Did you...”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can live with being a tauntaun,” said Hux. “I couldn’t live with myself if I let you die. To a crybaby like _Ren_ , no less.”

“Me?” said Poe. “I’m just part of a militia. I’m not from Lureag, I’m not even a decent spy.”

“So? To hear FN-2187 tell it I wasn’t very human anyway. No great sacrifice.”

Poe turned away. “Where will you go?”

“I hate to trouble you for any more favors, but could you drop me back on Hoth? The rural parts. At least I won’t be alone.”

“You’d leave the First Order? Leave the war?”

“Doesn’t take a goody-goody to see we’re—they’re not the winning side, at this point. Not without the base and the troopers and Ren being Ren.”

Poe hesitated. “Would you give your word, not to betray my secrets? For my sake, if not my cause’s.”

“Dameron,” said Hux, “your father is a fine man, but I would rather eat my own tail than be stuck in the Yavin climate. I’d melt, for one.”

“True,” said Poe. “I had a slightly better idea in mind.”

* * *

Leia Organa was having a long day.

First there’d been the rumors that the First Order’s secret weapon in the remote regions had been destroyed just as quickly as it had been built. She’d considered that a wild hope, at first, but then there’d been the sightings of listless Stormtroopers looking for a new purpose.

And then Poe Dameron had shown up with one of those Stormtroopers in tow, unconscious but stable. “He should make a full recovery,” Doctor Kalonia had decreed, “but he’ll need a lot of support.”

“Yeah,” said Poe. “And a name.”

But the strangest arrival was an obedient tauntaun that followed Poe around, showing up unnanounced in Leia’s quarters.

“I don’t know if I can be of much assistance,” she said. “I’m not a Jedi, and I’m certainly not the Supreme Leader of anything.”

“You’re Luke Skywalker’s sister,” Poe argued. “You’re strong with the Force, _and_ you’re—you’re General Organa! What can’t you do?”

“That would be an extremely long list of tasks,” she remarked.

“Well, try to trim it down.”

“You’re sure?” she asked the tauntaun. Really, was this what she had come to?

“If Poe trusts you, I do,” he said. “I’m not afraid.”

Trying not to scoff, Leia stretched out her focus. The Force surrounded her like a veil, billowing and spiralling as it took in the present and the past. An angry young man, Poe’s hope, a structure come and gone…

Moments later she slumped back in her chair, exhausted from the effort. A redheaded human stood before her, grinning and whooping with delight. Then he turned to kiss Poe.

“Your defection is welcome news,” Leia said once he’d finished, “but if that’s your specific method of thanks, I’d just as soon pass.”

“Er—no—I mean—thank you very much, ma’am,” stammered Hux. “I’ll do what I can to update your intelligence files.”

“You smell a lot better than last time,” said Poe.

For all her wisdom in the Force, Leia decided, there were some things she did not ever want to know.


End file.
